Deep
by Crowsnight66
Summary: Sam has had a hard life. He continues to struggle after the death of Castiel(the first time). Can a fairy help him? What will Dean do? Summary sucks, warnings inside. I own nothing! There also is not a Bermuda Tennessee, at least not that I'm aware of...DISCONTINUED! UP FOR ADOPTION!
1. True Color

** Author Note: This story is rated T for cutting, suicidal thought, and just an out-right screwed up Sam. If things like this disturb you, turn back now. You have been warned. Please, Please, PLEASE review!**

_**Deep**_

_Chapter 1: True Color_

I look out of the Impala window, the rain had fogged up the glass, but the autumn trees were distinct enough on the mountain side. If I didn't know better, I'd say the forests were ablaze. I was growing impatient. A day of driving, and I was beginning to crack. If I didn't get to the hotel and take a hot shower soon, I might explode. As Dean drove past a sign, announcing our arrival to Bermuda, Tennessee, I feel my heart lighten.

Dean found an article saying that there were people being stabbed through the heart, but the weapon left a fine powder behind on the victims. Personally, I couldn't care less. I just wanted a stupid shower. We parked at a hotel, dean hopping out and saying, "I'll get us a room."

Ten minutes later, we finally got checked in to the hotel, I set my bag down on the far bed. The room was decent, a small nightstand between the beds, a little table, mini fridge, microwave, and even a balcony. I rummage through my bag, digging to the very bottom. I say, "I'm going to take a shower."

Dean merely grunted his reply and plopped down on the bed, snoring in minutes. I wrap my clean clothes around my small journal and razor, and quietly slip into the bathroom. It wasn't anything special, just a normal, white bathroom. I close and lock the creamy-colored, wooden door. I lean against the wall and allow my weak legs to give out, collapsing to the floor.

I flip to my last entry in my journal, two days ago. I pulled my rain-dampened, long-sleeved shirt up over my head, and discard it to the dark corner. My scars become visible, so many, deep and shallow, long and short. My last made cuts were still healing. I remember Dean knocking, and I freaked out, the razor slashing through my abs a lot deeper than intended. I didn't mind though, it made me even more numb. I had made a quick excuse and he had left. I trace over the cut, running from below my right nipple down to my left hip. I had thought at the time that I might bleed to death. Granted, I was extremely woozy at the time, but nothing deadly. I write in the date, followed by, _place: shower, tool: razor/ fingernails_, and _Dean: asleep._

I've been a cutter for about eight years, since I was about eighteen. I always record it, making sure that if something bad ever happened, Dean would know why, though he wouldn't care. He would abandon me if he ever found out. I can't bear the thought, and the first tears run down my cheeks, one falling on my open journal, leaving a coin sized splotch. I closed my journal, and placed it on the sink. I put the razor down on the side of the tub, while I fumbled with the shower knob.

Once the shower was steaming hot, I stepped into the small amount of water collected in the slowly filling tub. I sank down, letting the water pound my chest. I begin to dig my longish nails into my collarbone, letting them scratch me from there to my shoulders, and off. Small spots of blood begin to well up and I get the briefest look before the hot water washes them away. The blood barley seeped out, so I continued to claw at the marks, making them deeper and wider. I watched the fear and pain well from the cuts, dripping down into the water.

I sigh, I have tried to stop, I really have. When Jess found out, she tried to help me. I was so stressed with school, that when my classmate told me about it, well….

I had been sober, so to speak, for two weeks, when Jess was killed. I shudder in the hot water. I feel so cold and alone, yet the steam tells me I'm warm, and the droplets that soar around me tell me I'm surrounded by friends. Dean's snoring just tells me that I'm safe from him abandoning me today.

I started to self-harm for loss after Jess. I just would take hour long showers and cut. It made me feel so numb, yet alive. Then, I met Castiel. I thought that if I put up a strong enough wall, he wouldn't see me cutting, or sense the pain in my heart.

A few days after we met, I had dashed to the bathroom, shudders racking my broken body, and tears streaming down my face. Dean and I had had a really bad fight, and he had left for a few days. When I reached for my razor, Cas was there. He put his hand over mine, taking the razor. I remember him saying, "Why do you do this? I do not understand. Doesn't it hurt?"

I acutely can recall his eyes, the dark blue orbs flooded with confusion, grief, and sympathy. I shook my head, "I don't know. It hurts, and then…it just feels numb."

"But why would you wish to be numb? The world is beautiful and would grieve your loss."

At that, I fall to my side, shaking and crying. I had long ago convinced myself that the world was better off without me, that no one cared. To have another living person, someone I barely knew, tell me that my life meant something, not just because I'm Lucifer's vessel, I couldn't contain the sorrow and happiness that someone cared. Cas sits there, watching me. He knows that there is nothing he can do to help, other than be there. I look up into his eyes, "Thank you."

"What are you thankful for?" he asks. Sometimes, talking to an angel feels very one-sided. I reply, "For not leaving…please don't leave me."

I grab the razor and slash it across my chest, tears mixing with the fresh blood. He was there for me. Each time I told him that I couldn't take it, he would allow me to cut, but it became something I did less and less. Each time I would cut, he would give me a strong embrace and sing the chorus of "Carry on my Wayward Son".

I would always start to sob again when it came to "Don't cha cry no more", and Cas didn't care that I got blood and tears all over his trench coat.

Then, when he died, I fell back into the same thing, only this time I had another life to grieve. I kept the strong face on, unlike Dean; he just drank everything he could find. I would always break down when I thought of Cas, but I held it until I got to the bathroom.

I dunked my head under the pouring water, letting it soak my long hair. I dug my nails into the back of my neck, not moving them, just applying pressure until I saw white spots, the blood running from the wounds all over my body, dripping into the water, and turning it pink. After Castiel died, my burning, tortured heart froze over, not letting anyone touch it. No one knows what I'm going through. No one will. I was a fool to let someone in. I punch the stone wall, amazed by the crack that now runs through that square of rock.

Drops of water jumped off my brown hair, dissolving into the steadily darkening water. I fought back the urge to scream, the pain in my neck growing. When I could no longer bear it, I moved my fingers, allowing the pain to slightly ease, gasping for air. I shake, biting my bottom lip, and I taste the sweet, salty blood enter my mouth.

I stand, still trembling, and turn off the shower. If I didn't gauze the wounds, I might pass out from blood loss. When I step onto the stone floor, and look on the sink, I realize my mistake. I had been in such a hurry to take a shower I forgot my first aid kit. I look in the mirror, seeing the scarlet rivulets running in short streams from my chest, slim crimson lines from my collarbone to my shoulders, and when I turn I can see the blood welling from the marks in my neck, trickling nearly to the small of my back. I search the cabinet under the sink until I found a small, white washcloth. Wetting it, I glide it over my abused chest and shoulders, trying to stop the bleeding. I bring it up my back, gathering the red trails, and clean the wounds they were born from.

To my building despair, the old blood is replaced by fresh blood. I sigh, maybe today is the day Dean leaves my pathetic butt. I crack the door, careful to keep my scarred shoulders hidden from view. I don't see Dean, but a little note left on the bed. I cautiously step out of the bathroom, the steam spirits breaking from their restraints. I bend over and read the note: Went to Wendy's- Dean.

I inwardly smile, set the note back down, and dash to my bed. I scavenge my large duffle bag, knowing I could be caught in seconds. My hand finds the first aid kit, and I ran back to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I rinse out the bloody cloth, the red running down the drain. As I clean the blood again, and bandage the cuts, I sigh in relief. I'm safe for another however many weeks. I generally get a scare every two weeks or so. Since I'm still in the motel with Dean, theoretically speaking, I'm safe.

I pulled on a black turtle neck, hiding the gauze, and my scarred arms. Another reason I like showers, I'm not so restricted. I slide my thumbs through the holes at the bottom of my sleeves, keeping them from coming up. Chick, pathetic, weak, fragile…things Dean could describe me as flashed through my mind.

Shattered. Worthless. Torn. Scarred. _**Broken**_.

I shake my damp head, pulling on my underwear and worn jeans. I take a deep, long breath, and open the door. Dean still hadn't returned and I was glad; it takes a lot for me to pretend to be hungry, let alone eat anything. Dean hasn't noticed my eating habits, or lack of, yet. I only eat what I must to keep the muscle I have. I have tight shirts that I wear just to show that I still have it.

After hiding the razor, journal, and first aid kit back in my duffle, I move to the front of the bed, crawling helplessly under the blankets. I curl up in a ball, my head facing the door and feet toward the headboard. I silently cry. I'm not sure why; I'm a hunter, therefore, I don't cry. Bull.

I'm tempted to dig my nails into neck again, but then I wouldn't have enough time to clean it up again. I close my eyes, and slowly, I drift to sleep.

_The fireflies light up the darkening twilight, and the last of the sun's light is reflected in the deep blue lake. One of the fireflies lands on my left hand. I realize, with a jolt, that I'm wearing a t-shirt. I frantically look around, and make sure that I'm alone with the glowing insects. Another bug lands on me, this time on one of my scars. More and more fly and land on me, but only on scars. _

_ A line of fireflies sit on my shoulders, and several more cling to the fabric above the two chest scars. I feel a tingling sensation on the back of my neck, where my nails wounded myself. I feel a single tear fall. I feel so loved, even if only by lightning bugs. The grass under me is soft, and welcoming. The mountains are black against the sky, arching to reach the midnight air. Trees of several species loom around the small lake, and the dancing fireflies set the forest ablaze with their shimmering backsides. _

_ I stand, the insects dispersing into the night. I walk into the dark woods, staring at the scenery. The moon now was gleaming brightly, casting an azure sheen over the trees and sparse rocks. I see a fairy, a fairy! The small creature couldn't be any larger than a banana, plus wings, which were bigger than the actual fairy. She was wearing woven grass to make shorts and a halter top. Her hair was pulled into two long, wavy pigtails, stretching to her hips. The hair was the color of a green Easter egg, except for the sky blue tips. The fairy's bangs didn't hide anything from her blood red eyes, piercing into the ground, like she was staring at her prey._

_ But her truly show stopping feature was her wings. The translucent pair were shaped like a butterfly's wings, only with spiral ends coming off the end of each glowing, red end. The veins and spirals were scarlet, matching her fiery gaze. The shining, blue mushroom she was sitting on set a sapphire haze on her tiny body. I took a hesitant step forward, and her crimson eyes locked with mine. She said, "I'm back, Sammy!"_

I jolt up, bringing the heavy blankets with me. I heard laughter, very Dean-like laughter. I lift the rest of the comforter and sheet up to see Dean chuckling, and a Wendy's bag on the table. I growl, "I was having a dream!"

Out of breath, he looked at me and said, "About?"

I shook my head. I was not telling him that fireflies helped me not feel so alone, because they landed on my scars from cutting over the past eight years. Plus, there was a red-eyed fairy sitting on a glowing mushroom. Yeah, that would work well. I wearily said, "I can't remember, but it was a good dream."

He rolled his eyes, and began to pull out our food, a burger and fries for him, and a salad for me. I didn't feel hungry. I hadn't eaten in over a day though, so unless I wanted alert him to something being wrong, I should eat. I clambered off the bed, sighing and discreetly checking my shirt to make sure that my thumbs were still through the loops. I sat down across from Dean, popping the lid off my salad.

Dean eyed me while I picked at my salad. I pretended not to notice, just barley seeing through my thick, long lashes. While I eat the tasteless veggies, I close my eyes and silently sing "The A Team" by Ed Sheeran. _And they say, she's in the class A team, stuck in her daydream, been this way since eighteen, but lately, her face seems, slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries._

I open my eyes, and stick another small bite of salad in my mouth. While I'm chewing, I realize my lip is quivering. _Crap, don't you dare lose it in front of him._ I command myself.

My lip stops shaking. _But she don't want to go outside, tonight, and in a pipe she flies to the Motherland, or sells love to another man. It's too cold outside, for angels to fly._

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean asks, concern filling his voice.

I nod, afraid to speak. I can only put a wall up for so long.

"It's nice out. Why not put on a t-shirt? I don't see how you stand the heat in those things," he suggests, we go through this a lot.

I shake my head, "I get cold too easily." He eyes me as if he's trying to determine how truthful I'm being but finally gives it up.

I continue to pick at the salad, gradually pushing it to the side, making it look like I ate more than I really had. Once I was sure I had made an impressive dent, I replace the lid, and put it in the mini fridge.

I silently grab my iPod and headphones from my bag, careful not to show my journal, first aid kit, or razor, and open the door to the small balcony. I sit in the olive green plastic chair, put on the headphones, and scroll down to the recording of Cas singing "Carry on my Wayward Son."

"Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don't cha cry no more," as he sings the last part, I hear myself burst out crying in the background. I had recorded this for when I needed it most, that being when he wasn't here to soothe me. I then set it to "The A Team", and look out over the balcony. It was really pretty; the hotel was on a steep hill, so the view was cast into a valley. The trees varied in height, size, and specie, while the mountains seemed to touch the sky. The autumn colors set the forests on fire, except for the dark green of majestic evergreens that dotted the fierce flames.

I hear the door slide open behind me, but I continue to stare out across the valley, acting as though I was too entranced by my music to notice. Dean sat down in the other chair, "Okay, dude, what's the matter with you?"

I shake my head, pull down my headphones, and say, "Nothing's wrong, I'm just sleepy." I try to vary the excuses, sleepy, not feeling well, thinking about the case, grieving something, and on, and on.

He eyes me, and replies, "Then sleep some more. I need to do research anyways." He stands and walks back inside, leaving the door open. I sigh and follow. As I place my headphones and iPod on the nightstand, I slip back under the messy blankets, trying to straighten them before situating myself as I was. I hug my knees to my chest, fighting the urge to cry, to scream for Cas, to beg him to come back to me. I knew it wouldn't help, Castiel is dead, and he's not coming back. I close my watering eyes and quickly fall asleep.

_ I took a hesitant step forward, and her crimson eyes locked with mine. She said, "I know how you feel."_

_ "How?" I ask, confused. Well, I'm dreaming of a fairy sitting on a mushroom. Why not?_

_ The fairy rose up from the mushroom, her wings elegantly fluttering behind her small form. She approached me carefully, and when she was close enough to touch me, she placed a tiny hand on my chest, right over the fresh razor cut, "I'm here to help you."_

_ She motioned for me to follow her as she flew further into the woods. I warily followed her. The tree trunks became larger the farther we ventured. _

_ Once the trunks were bigger than giant sequoias, she stopped. She settled on the root of one of the trees, "Sit."_

_ I obeyed, sinking down on the cushiony moss and leaning against the tree. I asked, "Where is this place?" I felt a sense of belonging, and I wasn't scared of the fairy, just curious. _

_ She smiled sweetly, kicking her petite, yet shapely legs, "Welcome to the Enchanted Forest. This is where you'll visit every night."_

_ "Why would I do that?" I questioned, still confused why I was here._

_ "You can't really decide where to dream, now can you, silly?" she giggled. "I understand that it's weird. This is where troubled people go, a fairy is assigned to them, and basically we talk, and you vent. Plus, here when you have a breakdown, you'll be perfectly normal at home." _

_ My head was spinning, "And who are you?"_

_ The little fairy flew to the ground. She bowed and said, "My name is Haze Over the Moon, but please, call me Haze. I'm your personal fairy, and I specialize in cutting. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam."_

_ She fluttered over to me, and reached out her hand. I used my pointer finger and thumb to "shake" her hand._

_ "First, I'll be happy to answer any of your questions," Haze said, "I already know all about you."_

_ "I want to know about fairies. What makes you a cutter fairy?" I ask, curiosity perking my interest._

_ She nods, her pigtails wavering, "Generally when people come here, they are really surprised we exist. Though, you wouldn't, being a hunter and all. Well, fairies are born here, in the Enchanted Forest. When we are born, according to our eye and wing color," she spreads her wings, giving me a better look, "we become a certain type of fairy. The color is known as a 'True Color'. Red stands for self-harm, like cutting, suicidal thoughts, and also rage. I've helped almost twenty people stop self-harming in a hundred years."_

_ "If this is to help me, shouldn't it be, like, light?" I wonder._

_ "It would be, but it's dark here, while it's light on Earth. Personally, I like the night, the moon, and fireflies, better than the day. Though, I think I'm bias," Haze giggles, placing a hand over her pink lips. I slightly laugh, too. It's been a long time since I've truly laughed. _

_ "See, it's an immediate effect," she smiles. "Do you want to walk around? I can show you all the different places."_

_ I nod eagerly. Maybe this wouldn't be all bad. _

**Author Note: Okay, so that's the first chapter. I'll be updating soon! Please R/R.**


	2. An Enchanted Tour

**Author Note: Same warnings, please R/R.**

_**Deep**_

_Chapter 2: An Enchanted Tour_

_"Follow me, Sam," Haze said, her tiny voice laced with excitement. I obeyed, following her winged frame. She was giving me a tour through the Enchanted Forest, though it now seemed much bigger than I originally thought. She weaved around thick vines, and over fallen trees, waiting patiently for me to clamber over the_

_trunks and around the hanging roots. Through the tight canopy, I could see the sky, slowly bleeding the colors of a sunrise._

_Suddenly, Haze stopped, and I accidentally bumped her into a large fern. It didn't take long for her green head to pop back up, her bangs frizzed up everywhere. I covered my mouth and chuckled, she looked ridiculous, and her hair even blended in with the plant. Once she had escaped the fern, she landed and doubled over laughing. "Don't worry…it happens…all the…time," she gasped for air, her beautiful eyes shining with unshed tears of amusement._

_I hadn't stopped to look around, and saw that we were back at the small lake. Haze took my finger in both her hands and began pulling me towards the crystal clear waters, which were reflecting the fiery sunrise and casting a yellow highlight through the green leaves of the surrounding trees. As the fairy hauled me to the edge, she had me lay face down on a rock jutting out into the water. She hovered over the lake, the flutter of her wings barely rippling on the surface. She gestured to the water, "Drink, it's amazing."_

_I glance from her to the enticing liquid, slightly scared that if I drink it, I might fall under a spell or something. She smiles and dips her cupped hands into the water, brings it to her lips, and takes a long swig of it. I shrug, and take a sip of the fluid. The flavor bursts on my tongue, tasting of watermelon and_ _strawberries. I take another gulp, amazed by the taste._

_Haze smiles as I continue to drink the wonderful water, "The water tastes like our favorite flavor. For me that's lavender tea, but it's different for everyone."_

_After I've drank a good bottle full of water, I stand and walk back to the bank where Haze was already perched on the soft, springy grass. I plop down and lean back, "That is amazing."_

_The small creature nodded, "Did you look at your chest?"_

_I shake my head, finding the hem of the fabric and lifting it. My eyes bulge, the gauze was gone, and the two cuts had become scars. Very pronounced scars, but still scars none the less. I pull down the shirt and look to my shoulders,_

_nothing but scars remained of the breakdown I had mere hours ago. I feel the back of my neck to find only smooth skin. Before I could ask, Haze answered my unspoken question._

_"The Lake of Mirrors has healing properties. While it won't cover_

_old scars, it does heal fresh wounds."_

_I nod, laying back again, and staring up at the slowly disappearing stars. The world here is beautiful._

_Haze glanced at me, hesitantly and said, "Do you want to tell me why you started cutting?"_

_I sigh. I had to talk if I was going to stop, but I still didn't like the idea_

_of revealing my deepest secrets and fears. It makes me feel vulnerable, a feeling I'm not fond of, though I have much experience with._

_"A college friend of mine told me that it was a way to deal with stress_

_," I began. "At the time, I was getting very little sleep, I was overwhelmed with exams, and my future. I just decided to give it a try and soon, it became an addiction."_

_The little fairy nodded knowingly, "Did you try to stop?"_

_I felt my eyes water at the thought of Jess, but held them back, "My girlfriend was helping me stop. I was sober two weeks when she was killed. That's when I started hunting again. I started to cut to cope with the lifestyle, and began to fear that Dean would find out. I knew if he did...he would leave me."_

_I let the first wave of tears break, rolling down my cheeks. Haze had sorrow in her crimson eyes, and she flew to me, wrapping her skinny arms around my neck, trying to soothe me. It helped. It really did. She didn't care that the tears were bigger than three of her fists, and allowed them to soak her hair when they dropped onto her head. She didn't care that she was holding onto a grown man who was crying like I girl who just broke up with her boyfriend. She didn't care, and that meant something that reached into my soul, the soul that had been taken and replaced._

_It mattered that she cared enough to not focus on only my flaws and she could see what was beneath them._

_Once I had calmed down, she pulled away, "Okay, that's enough for tonight. You can't go back home worse than you were when you came, now can you? Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"_

_I looked at her strangely, tears still slightly blurring my vision, "What's a lullaby?"_

_Her mouth gaped_

_open. I really didn't know what it was, but it sounded familiar._

_"A lullaby is what a mother sings to her child to help him sleep. Have you heard 'Sleep' by Poets of the Fall?" she asked, still shocked._

_I shake my head, my long hair probably fuzzed up on the ground, "I haven't, but I would love a lullaby." It was so kind for really a complete stranger to sing for me. Considering that my mother was murdered, I didn't hear many sweet words during my dreaded childhood._

_She nods, and begins her sweet music, her words silky smooth and beautiful, "Sleep, Sugar, let your dreams flood in. Like waves of sweet fire, you're safe within. Sleep, Sweetie, lets your floods come rushin' in, and carry…" I soon drifted off, Haze's lovely voice lulling me to sleep_.

The next morning, my eyes flicker open. Through the heavy comforter and sheet, sunshine filtered through, lighting the small space and hurting my hazel eyes. I lift the smothering blankets, and look around the faintly lit room. The laptop sat closed on the table, along with several open books scattered around the poor, small table. I nearly jumped from a deep, throaty snore from Dean, asleep on the bed next to mine. His mouth was slightly open, and he was in yesterday's clothes. He must have been up till dawn researching while I was sacked out.

I wearily stood, wobbly on my legs. I am much more of a night person than the jump up at dawn and ready to go person. I silently stalked around Dean, making my way to the bathroom. I had to see if it was real, or if I'd just had another odd dream. Once I was safe behind the locked door, I pulled the black turtleneck up over my head. I gaped.

It was the same as the dream, no gauze or wounds, just smooth, pale scars. I shook my head. No, it was just a dream. But, from the looks of it, it wasn't _just a dream_. It was real. Drinking the water, healing, the Enchanted Forest, and Haze. They're all real, fairies were real. But where they were always thought as cunning, evil beings, they were really like personal therapists!

I thought over what had come from my mind. Yes, this was messed up. Of all the things I thought I might think, "I have a fairy therapist!" was not one of them. I needed another shower, badly. I sigh, but Dean would put things together, the extensive showers and long sleeves. I wish Cas was here, or even Haze. I just wanted someone, anyone. Not Dean though, because I already knew it wouldn't help to be sitting on the streets, hoping that my big brother would change his mind. I slide to the ground, pulling my knees to my chest. I try to hold back the tears, determined not to have yet another breakdown.

I'm glad Dean doesn't know about this. This, the _real_ me. The part of me that is so broken and pathetic, the part that I hate _so_ much. I banged my head against the back of the wall, hard.

A sharp pain went straight to my brain, numbing it. I brought my hand to the area, bringing it back with blood on it.

I sigh. Couldn't I just chill for a day? Couldn't I hold on until I was in the Enchanted Forest, where I can cut, and nearly kill myself without having it happen here?

"Sammy?" the knob turned, but didn't budge. I panic, and pull my sweater on, "I'll be out in a sec."

I wipe the blood off the tile wall with my hand, the small red splotch becoming unnoticeable. I knew the back of my head was bleeding. And the idiot of the year award goes to Sam Winchester! He made a very noticeable wound on his head, while making a loud noise, which woke his brother. I am idiot of the year.

But, I have an idea. I splash a bit of water in the floor near where the blood was. I open the door, trying to look normal as possible. I was immediately met with Dean's intense worried look, his emerald orbs pooled with concern. He says, "What happened? I heard a loud bang, and I thought that something was in here."

I see the cocked and loaded pistol lying on the messy bed. I shake my head, "No, I just slipped in some water on the floor. I thumped my head on the wall and that was the banging sound." I tried to sound convincing, which must have worked, because he moved on from the incident to my wound.

He spins me around before I could react. I heard him suck in a breath, "How did you manage to do this?"

I discreetly gulp, pulling my sleeves down out of habit when I feel threatened, "It's nothing, really."

"The heck it's nothing! It's running down your neck," he says, beginning to tug at the neck of my sweater. My instincts kick in at that moment as I rotate one-eighty, covering my exposed neck.

Crap, this is it, I thought, knowing that Dean was piecing it together. He was figuring out what was really happening. He knew what was going on with me. But he just said, "I'm sorry, I know you're ticklish." I resist the urge to gape. Relief washed over me, that is, until I see a glint in his eye. It wasn't a betrayal look, but a "you should know what's coming" look. I began to back away, but he was too fast. Before I could stop him, Dean put his strong hands on my waist and threw me down on the hotel bed. I scramble back, "Dean, don't you dare!"

It didn't matter. His long fingers were soon under my arms. I throw my head back and started to laugh like a mad man as he moves his, skilled in torture fingers. I tried to fight back, but my big brother had a horrid advantage.

He wasn't ticklish.

I heave for breath until Dean stops his abuse, laughing with amusement as hard as I am from the torment. I glare at him, trying to pull off a death squint.

Dean takes one look at my angry expression and begins to laugh harder. He fell back on the blanket, shaking from the waves of amusement. Like I used to, and still do, only I'm never laughing….

Dean hasn't tickled me like that since he was twelve, over eighteen years ago. It really brings back fond memories. I burst, "Stop laughing! It's not funny!"

In eighteen years, the reaction hasn't changed a bit. Dean barely manages to choke out, "To you! It's still hilarious! You'd think you would have learned by now."

I shake my head, but can't help chuckling. Though it's at my expense, I love moments like this, when we can just laugh and be normal brothers.

But, this will be gone soon, a voice in the back of my mind says. I try to push the thought away, but it keeps coming back, trying to pin me down and suffocate me. I know that this won't last forever, that one day, I'll be alone. I know that Dean won't be here at the end of the long run. Maybe that's how it's supposed to be. The angels say that we're the vessels of Michael and Lucifer. So does that make this destiny? Destiny that he leaves me in the end? Destiny that we accept the contract. Destiny….

Well, screw destiny! It sucks. Why should that be our destiny, _my _destiny? I've been to the pit and back twice, and Dean's been once. Destiny really doesn't belong in this picture now does it? He saved me once…then Cas saved us. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him.

"Sammy, you okay, dude?" Dean asked. He had stopped laughing, though his eyes still held hints of amusement. The small glint was soon washed away by worry. I nod, aware of the sorrow I know he could see in my hazel eyes. I decided to put up my wall, shielding all emotion from the orbs. I lay back, my hair fanning out around me.

"I'm fine considering that you tried to tickle me to death."

He acts like that cleared everything up, but I can see he is still suspicious, I could see it in his emerald eyes. Dean is horrible at controlling his emotions, despite what he thinks. He can put on a brave face, but even a total stranger can tell his feelings by looking in his eyes. I, on the other hand, can play the swiftest criminal. No one can tell what I feel, not truly. I've fooled Dean for years, and it isn't hard to continue it.

"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it," I play the charming, Sammy look, and stand.

Dean mumbles something that sounds like a mix between a sigh and an agreement. I walk to the tiny table, and sit in the wooden chair. I open the laptop, finding the still open window of the murders. Of course it was. That's what we were in the town for.

I just wanted to sleep, go talk to Haze, be with Castiel, or be anywhere but here. I loved Dean, but he can't help this problem. Heck, he's a partial cause to this problem. I knew that if Cas was still here, he could come, freeze time or something, and just let me cry on his shoulder. I hate life without him. I'm not

into him or anything like that, but he was more of a brother than Dean by justbeing there for me. Or like a dad. If I wasn't so broken, we might be able to have fun together. I could teach him how to get laid, give him his first drink, and so many other things.

I sigh. Just one problem, the one that I always forget, Castiel is dead. He's _dead_. As far as my knowledge goes, angels can't come back to life. I just wish he was here, so badly….

I look back to the laptop screen. I need to stay on track, "Four identical murders in the past month."

Dean stands from the bed, stretching a little, "Yeah, there's no connection between them, I mean _nothing_. They lived in different parts of the town, and one was even visiting from South Carolina."

I shake my head, "But, they were killed on the same road."

He looks at me confused, "No, they weren't on the same _road_, but they were in the same area."

I turn the map around with the murder sites circled in red. I point to each site, "Each murder was on an extension of the same road."

The road, Fantasy Lane, had five extensions, expanding to other neighbor hoods. The thing was no one noticed people getting killed, because the houses were farmhouses with large fields, filled with cows and horses.

Dean nodded, obviously frustrated that he didn't notice it. Though, anyone who knows us knows that I'm the brains, memory, and detail examiner. Dean is the one who gets furious, and just wants to kill something.

"So, what does the road have to do with the murders?" Dean asks.

I shake my head, "No clue, maybe a vengeful spirit? I guess we just go and check it out."

Dean sighs, "Well look, I got an hour of sleep. We can leave in a few hours."

"That's fine," I say as he plops back down on the messy hotel bed. He's snoring in less than a minute.

I stand from the chair, shutting the laptop. I walk to the mini fridge across from my bed, pulling out the salad. I knew that if I didn't eat it, or at least give the impression that I had, Dean would pay even closer attention to me and that wasn't something I needed.

After I take the salad to the lobby and throw it away, I walk back to the room, the harsh wind blowing my hair in my eyes. I tighten my jacket around my muscular frame, trying to block out the cold spirits and warm up. I finally get back to room, glad that the room was a toasty temperature. Wearily, I sit on my bed, listening to Dean breathe heavily. I try to think of something productive I can do, but all I can think of is sleep. Well, not sleep, but dream. Dreaming is officially my new pastime, that and showering. This doesn't work well for me, considering that in our line of work, it doesn't involve getting ten hours of sleep every night.

I sigh, and stand again. My eyes make their way to the balcony. If only it was summer, then I could sit out there and read. Then, I remember.

I have a bleeding wound on the back of my head. I'm so happy Dean forgot about it. Though, with his mind, he probably didn't forget, but just dropped it to ponder in silence. I stalk around the snoring beast in the bed, and step into the small bathroom, locking the door behind me. Locking doors have become second nature to me, which has come to scare me a little. It is an important skill when putting sharp blades in your skin, because if you don't, you get caught, and have a very awkward situation.

I look in the mirror at the body staring back at me. The body is muscular and sexy, not a scratch on it with plenty of pride and confidence. The person in the mirror isn't me. Maybe it was the old me. No. There wasn't an "old me". There was a young, naïve me. The one who thought that I wasn't going to be a hunter. The one who wanted to become a lawyer and marry Jess.

Then there was the _real _me. The me that would stare back at me with teary eyes, and a scarred body without a shirt on. The me that always fears that his big brother will abandon him. The me that talks to fairies and angels to get through the long depressing days, trying to find another reason to live.

I reach for the back of my head finding the blood crusted in my hair. I retrieve the washcloth that I used before, rewetting it. I glide the white cloth across the wound, trying to remove any sign of the earlier incident. Once I was sure the blood was gone, I wash out the fabric. I watch the red run down the drain, then pink, and finally the water turns clear again.

I twist the water off, squeezing the water out of the washcloth. Yeah, life sucks. I have held a knife to my throat, a gun to my heart, and a bottle of pills, contemplating what would happen if I follow

ed through. I always come to the same conclusion: nothing. Dean would grieve until he finds the scars. Bobby would get over it after a few months. It really makes me wonder why I'm here at all.

I open the door again, and walk to my awaiting bed. I lay back on its cushioned mattress, staring up at the white, imprinted ceiling. Dean was snoring like a hibernating bear. I didn't even have to look at him to know that he was lying on his back with both arms over his head. That's when he snores the heaviest.

I know my brother inside and out. He knows me out. Sure, he knows what room I check into, and that I secretly love vodka, even if he makes fun of me for it. He doesn't know everything though, only what I'm okay with him knowing. He doesn't know I cut. He doesn't know that I've attempted suicide almost seven times in eight years. He doesn't know about the friendship I had with Castiel. He doesn't know that my biggest fear is that my sleeve comes up, or that I forget to lock the door.

He only thinks he knows me. The thought makes my eyes water as I drift into a dream land. In other words, back to the Enchanted Forest.

_"You're back soon," a feminine voice says behind me. I turn from the Lake of Mirrors to a small green-haired fairy._

_I nod, "Dean wanted to sleep a little longer."_

_Haze flutters over to me. I'm sitting on the soft, springy grass in front of the lake. She lands on my shoulder, examining the back of my head. I slightly shift, uncomfortable with how vulnerable I am. "Don't worry," she says._

_I scoff, "Easy for you to say. You're not getting a wound examined by a fairy you met a day ago."_

_She ponders on that for a minute while moving my hair to get a better look at the wound. Once she is done, she flies down to my knee, landing on it, "Are you ready for the next place?"_

_I nod. Who knows how many places there were in the Enchanted Forest. Haze begins to lead me back into the towering trees, enclosing us in their strong branches. It was night here again, the full moon shining beams of light through the forest. Haze weaved through the trees, and I followed, trying to get around the cumbersome things._

_I see a clearing coming into view, though fog ghosted the area. As we approached it, I realize from the heat and humidity that it's not fog, but steam. Why would steam be in the middle of a forest?_

_"I have a feeling that this will be your favorite place," Haze says, motioning to the clearing. As I look closer, I see a pond being filled by a waterfall. Steam rose from the glistening water. It was beautiful! The edge of the pond was all stone. I'm not sure what kind but it seemed to be_

_similar to obsidian. Haze fluttered over the hot water, spreading her hand around her, presenting the falls and pond, "Welcome, Sam Winchester, to Lava Springs."_

_The waterfall was very impressive, and it was obvious that there was a cave behind it. The water was drawing me in, almost like hypnotism as its steaming arms clutched me. The glassy luster on the obsidian reflected the smiling moon, the light bouncing around the small clearing._

_Haze said, "You can take a bath if you want. I know that it helps you a lot as far as relaxation goes."_

_I nod. I loved showers. In my miserable life, they're what keep my emotions under control. My mind involuntarily went to the fact that I'm a guy. Haze is a girl._

_You are such a pervert, I tell myself._

_Haze must have sensed my flickering emotions, and says, "I'll turn around while you get in. I'll stick to the side, and not look under the water."_

_I smile, glad that nudity wouldn't stop the bath. Haze turns, and I begin to undress._

**Okay, so there's chapter 2! PLEASE R\R, and I'll be updating soon!**


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